


floodwater

by kathillards



Category: GARO: Gold Storm Sho
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, M/M, Rough Kissing, blood and bruises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 06:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathillards/pseuds/kathillards
Summary: "See what we can accomplish without our swords?"





	floodwater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozuttly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozuttly/gifts).

> i didn't know what to tag this as because... ryuga and jinga kinda transcend formalities. just be warned this is kinda dubious.  
thank you for the great prompt, i hope you like this!

Jinga runs a finger over the tip of his sword, wiping off the drops of Ryuga’s blood spilled on it.

“You know, there’s easier ways to do this, right?”

Ryuga glares at him, wishing his breath wasn’t coming so hard, so uneven. “Easier ways to do _what_?”

“This little…” Jinga gestures between the two of them, standing on opposite ends of the vast throne room. “Thing we’ve got going on.”

His smile is wide and wicked. Ryuga has to physically stop himself from taking a step backwards out of pure, primal fear.

“Enlighten me,” he spits.

“Are you sure?” Jinga’s voice is mocking now. His sword clatters onto the marbled floor and he begins walking forwards, his gait sure and steady. There’s a glint in his eyes, and even as Ryuga steadies his own sword, ready to swing, he can’t help but feel remarkably unsure of everything.

It’s like this every time. Just when he thinks he’s found solid footing, Jinga opens up a flood below his feet and the only thing he can do is drown.

Not this time. Ryuga braces his sword just as Jinga stops two inches away from him.

“Come on, I’ve dropped my weapon.” Jinga rolls his eyes and knocks on the edge of Ryuga’s sword. “Isn’t it common courtesy not to raise your sword against an unarmed man?”

Ryuga eyes him disbelievingly. “You’re a Horror.”

“Yeah, and you’re what, exactly?” Jinga leans closer, a sneer twisting his lips. “The epitome of good and pure?”

“I’m damn sure I’m better than you.”

“Says the boy who killed his mother.”

Ryuga slices his sword forward, but all Jinga does is duck under it and twirl around until he’s standing at Ryuga’s side. He takes one step, catches Ryuga’s wrist, and twists it painfully until he drops his sword.

Jinga tilts his head. “Did I push the wrong button?”

Ryuga pulls against him, but Jinga’s fingers are cold as ice and clamped tight around his wrist. “Fuck you.”

“Man, they don’t make Makai Knights like they used to,” says Jinga, his tone fake wistful. “Are you allowed to curse now?”

Ryuga doesn’t deign to reply to this. He slams his knee upwards, straight into Jinga’s stomach, and sends him reeling backwards, losing his grip.

This is the opportune moment to get his sword back, but Ryuga finds himself standing still, staring at Jinga where he’s knocked backwards into the wall, one hand cradled around his ribs. His white hair is battle-swept, going in every direction, and yet, when he looks up, there’s no anger or annoyance in his expression.

Only a deep and twisted sort of amusement, tilting at his lips. His gaze burns, roots Ryuga to the spot, an anchor in an endless, uncertain sea. Like he’s dragging him underwater and waiting for him to drown.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” says Jinga. His laugh echoes around the walls, filling the space, crowding it smaller somehow. “See what we can accomplish without our swords?”

Ryuga reaches for his sword, but his arm feels like it’s pushing against currents just to get there. Jinga stands up, and then he’s behind Ryuga, in a flash of dark Horror magic that leaves him unsteady, dizzy on his feet.

“I thought you—” Ryuga hisses as Jinga digs cold fingers into his thigh and shoves him backwards into the wall, further away from his weapon. “—I thought you wanted a _fight_.”

“Oh,” Jinga’s smile is chilly as it curls his lips, “I think this _is_ a fight.”

He leans in, but his fingers go still on Ryuga’s leg and nothing else moves. Only Jinga’s gaze, dark and hungry as he searches Ryuga’s face, trails it down his body, waiting and wanting. Time ticks by in slow, painful increments; his heart seems to be pounding thrice as fast as the seconds that pass.

Jinga lifts his other hand and presses two fingers to Ryuga’s cheekbone, just underneath his eye. His black nails curl in, indenting crescent moons onto Ryuga’s already-bruised skin, like he’s taunting him. Daring him to move.

Ryuga moves. There’s something Rian’s told him, during training out in the woods: _Always go for the unexpected move, even if you think you can’t pull it off._

He hooks his hand into the leather of Jinga’s vest and tugs so hard that Jinga’s head comes crashing down towards his. The only thing that stops his momentum is Ryuga crushing his lips to Jinga’s, furious and hungry and violent.

For a long, terrible moment, all he can feel is the chill of Jinga’s mouth and the way it curves into a smile over his own.

And then Jinga presses back, just as hard and just as vicious, slamming Ryuga further into the wall. His teeth scrape against Ryuga’s lips, searching and demanding and stealing more and more and more until Ryuga has to gasp and give in.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, Makai Knight,” Jinga murmurs against his lips. His voice is eerie, soft and slow, creeping down Ryuga’s spine like a haunting shiver.

Ryuga forces his palm open, flattening it on Jinga’s chest. The energy it takes feels like more than he normally needs to swing a sword. He means to push—means to shove, means to drag himself away from this twisted encounter—but his hand stops where it is.

“You might be surprised what I have in me,” Ryuga finds himself saying instead. There’s something churning in his stomach, but it’s not the guilt he might have expected—the guilt he would have felt if this was anyone else, if anyone were to find out. It’s the thawing of something deep inside, a whirlpool opening up inside his chest and fingers reaching out of the cold, dark sea to drag him under.

The churning is the feeling of not resisting.

Jinga’s smile is delighted and malicious when he strokes his finger down Ryuga’s cheek and tilts his chin upwards. “I always thought so, myself.”

He remembers something else Rian had told him, in what seems like a lifetime far away, in a world where the sun was still bright: _The most important thing about fighting a Horror is to not let them steal your control. If you give in to your base instincts, that’s when you’ve lost._

She had been right, in more ways than one.

As Ryuga lets Jinga drag him back into a kiss so cold and full of craving, he wonders if maybe losing should feel worse than this. If maybe he’s been holding himself together with threads of control so long that Charybdis had started to seem like a welcome respite.

Jinga tilts his head and presses his teeth sharp into the corner of Ryuga’s mouth. Like Ryuga is a puzzle piece he’s slotting into place.

“Thinking about running away?”

“You wish.”

Jinga’s grin is wider than a lion that’s caught a gazelle. Ryuga can taste blood on his lips and when he moves to kiss him again, it feels like stepping into the chaos of the flood, unarmed and ferocious and far away from sunlight.


End file.
